The Girl By My Side
by Tres Mechante
Summary: She had been by his side for 20 years. Now that she’s gone, he doesn’t quite know what to do. Deakins POV. This is a post-ep story for “Yesterday”.


**The Girl By My Side  
**By Tres Mechante

**Summary:** She had been by his side for 20 years. Now that she's gone, he doesn't quite know what to do. Deakins POV.  
  
**Spoilers:** All from season 1. This is a post-ep story for _Yesterday_ with a nod and a wink to _Poison_ and _Maledictus_. Govern yourself accordingly.  
  
**Disclaimer:** No part of the **_Law & Order_** universe, including **_Criminal Intent_** actually belongs to me. The characters have not been stolen; Deakins had some issues to work through and I was happy to help. No financial profit is being made from this story – in fact, this story is costing me money since I have to pay for my Internet connection.  
  
=== === === ===  
  
Hanging up the phone after another conversation with one of the mayor's handlers, Captain James Deakins closed his eyes and sighed. His ambition would be the death of him, he thought. Trying to reconcile the street cop in his soul with the political animal he had become weighed heavily some days.  
  
Opening the right hand drawer, he reached in – and stilled as his hand touched bare metal. He felt his heart lurch slightly. The near empty drawer mocked him, reminded him that after 20 years, she really was gone.  
  
Picking up the bottle of Necedral, he shook out two tablets, pausing as they rested in his hand. Damn, he thought. He'd never be able to take this stuff again without thinking about cyanide. This job was getting to be too much. Some days he just wanted to run away.  
  
Actually, that sounds pretty good right about now, he thought. Popping the tablets in his mouth, he washed them down with the last of the cold coffee in his mug. Standing quickly, he grabbed his jacket and paged the secretary, telling her he had to head out and probably wouldn't make it back that afternoon.  
  
He strode through the bullpen toward the elevators, ignoring everything and everyone around him, intent only on escape. Safely in his car and out into traffic, he drove with no conscious destination. The midtown traffic gave way to suburban streets and finally to the edges of the city itself.  
  
He drove for a few hours, until he was forced to stop for gas. It was then that he realized he had missed lunch – again, and it was almost suppertime. He picked up a sandwich and coffee and, on a whim, a tiny teddy bear holding skis.  
  
Forty minutes later he slowed and came to a stop beside the large gates. With a sigh, he turned in and parked. Standing beside his car, he looked out over the grounds, unsure which way to go.  
  
"You look lost, there, son." Deakins turned to see an elderly man standing behind him. "Who are you looking for? Maybe I can help," the man said.  
  
Clearing his throat, Deakins replied, "Alyssa Cooney. Do you know where she's...where she is?"  
  
"Poor thing. At least now her and her folks have some peace. See that cedar bush?" he asked, pointing along a path. "She's just a little past there." The old man looked at Deakins, curious about why he would be looking for the Cooney girl, but he opted to hold his tongue. Something in the younger man's eyes was just too raw for prodding, however innocent the intent.  
  
Deakins thanked the man and headed along the path, steps slowing as he passed the cedar.  
  
**_ Alyssa Cooney  
Beloved Daughter  
Home at Last  
_**  
Kneeling in front of the headstone, he traced the letters of that last line. "I'm sorry, Alyssa," he whispered. "I'm so very sorry." He had no idea how long he knelt there. He didn't feel the dampness of the earth leaching through his trousers into his knees. He was unaware of everything outside his own thoughts.  
  
For 20 years this beautiful girl had been part of him even though they had never actually met. In some strange way she had contributed to the man he had become.  
  
A kaleidoscope of memories, images and emotions swirled through him. The frustration at being unable to break the case. The nightmares in which he heard Alyssa screaming, calling for him to help her. He shuddered at that memory. The nightmares had been almost nightly at first, gradually tapering off until they only happened on her birthday and the anniversary of having to drop the case. Dragging her file with him as he climbed the ladder was a way of keep hope alive. In some bizarre fashion, Alyssa Cooney had become his companion, thoughts of her always tickling the back of his mind. Her case file became the girl and she was always by his side.  
  
Twenty years of suppressed pain crashed through his carefully constructed walls when Detectives Goren and Eames said they found her body. Panic reared up as he urged them to stay away from the case – "You'll never break it" – half in fear they would succeed where he had failed, and half in fear of yet another failure. The memory of that awkward call to her parents echoed in his mind. The shame of hounding her ex-boyfriend until it became clear he was innocent – he had been so sure he hadn't even considered alternatives.  
  
He remembered the sorrow and the anger at Jay Lippman's confession. A young beautiful life snuffed out because some mutt had an urge. What a waste.  
  
"What a goddamn waste," he repeated, unaware he had been speaking aloud the whole time. He was equally unaware of the tears tracking down his face, falling faster and faster the more he talked.  
  
And then, with a sigh that reached to the very corners of his soul, James Deakins fell silent. The evening sounds gently filtered into his consciousness. He shivered as a stray breeze brushed his neck and tousled his hair.  
  
Slowly he reached into his pocket and pulled out the little ski-bear. He pressed his lips to its nose and set the bear gently at the foot of the headstone. "I'm really sorry I couldn't bring you home sooner," he said. "But I'm glad you're home now. Goodbye."  
  
On the way back to the city, Deakins called his wife to apologize for being late and promised to explain later. But once he was home, all he could say was "I went to see Alyssa Cooney". His wife looked at him and then simply held him close, whispering how she understood saying goodbye was hard. He returned her hug, grateful beyond measure for the way she could read him. He thought, not for the first time, that she would make a hell of a detective.  
  
Heading for the shower, he heard his wife telling their daughter it was time for bed – even if _all _her friends _did_ stay up until _midnight_. It was good to be home.  
  
--- --- ---  
  
Hanging up the phone after another conversation with the chief of detectives, Deakins closed his eyes and sighed. It was going to be one of those days.  
  
Opening the right hand drawer, he reached in – and stilled as his hand touched the plastic container of chocolate chip cookies. He gently touched the note taped to the top.  
  
_** Dad,   
Take 2 as needed. Better than Necedral!   
Don't take too many. Two makes everything better,   
but too many means tummy ache and that just makes everything worse.   
Luv ya!  
**_  
He smiled at her little cartoon person signature. Closing the drawer he headed out into the bullpen, straight for Goren and Eames.  
  
"Did you tell Kenneth Strick he plucks his eyebrows?" he asked incredulously.  
  
_**-End-**_


End file.
